


the walls have ears

by ofserien



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Attempted Murder, DID I MENTION SOFT ERIK, Erik is in love, F/M, Fluff, Ghosties, Hauntings, Hurt/Comfort, Murder, Mystery, Nightmares, Romance, SO MUCH FLUFF, but im also literally scared of the dark so, chile anyways, christine daae takes no crap and will defend your rights, erik isn't the only spooky scary skeleton in this story, i literally love this man, i'll be giving midnight vibe checks for how scary each chapter is, if i got scared writing it, it's prob not passing the midnight vibe check, meg giry has my heart, no beta we die like men, soft erik, spooky season, y'all already KNOW i ignored canon, y'all really thought erik was the only phantom on this side of paris huh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:02:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26828563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofserien/pseuds/ofserien
Summary: Meg Giry didn’t believe in ghosts, but she believed in evil. And whatever she’d felt had been so cold and so bitter, that its imprint of hate never left her, and kept her shivering all night, despite the blankets.
Relationships: Erik | Phantom of the Opera & Meg Giry, Erik | Phantom of the Opera/Meg Giry
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	1. chapter one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SPOOKY SCARY SKELETONS 
> 
> a little halloween story for all you merik nerds XD
> 
> anyways, not much of a summary for this chapter since i don't want to give anything away too early! but be prepared for some spooks, some ghosts, and some fluffs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello y'all! here's day one of our merik countdown to halloween! i hope you all enjoy :)

It was lily-white and pure, wrapped in pink ribbon, and the girl held it close to her heart, as if it were precious. A serene, love-sick smile spread across her features, and her eyes widened with joy at the sight of a folded letter resting just beneath the gift. However, as her fingers rested over it, there was a scurry by the door, and she quickly sealed them both into her nightstand drawer, next to her other gifts. 

“Maman,” she greets, grinning at the ballet mistress nears her, enclosing the girl in her embrace. 

“Meg, my dear,” she murmurs, hugging her tightly. “Are you accompanying me to the station, I shall surely hope you are, as I will miss you so.”

“Of course, Maman. I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she replies, grinning, though her heart sunk at the prospect of her mother leaving. She was glad she wouldn’t be alone, but still, it was on the rare occasion she was apart from her mother for much longer than a few hours. 

“Pack your things, little one, and I’ll give you some coins to last you a few days back and forth from the apartment,” she explains. “Your patron was very generous to pay for an apartment - I expect you to write a letter of appreciation while I am gone.” 

“Of course I will, mother,” she says, nearly gushing at the thought of him, and her fingers trail over to her nightstand, brushing above where his gifts would be. “I’ll start it first thing tomorrow.” 

“Very well. I shall meet you in, say, fifteen minutes to depart? There should be food inside of the apartment.” Madame Giry embraces the young woman again tightly. “And you promise you’ll write if even the slightest thing happens?”

“I’ll write to you every day, Maman. Though I’m not certain anything will happen - nothing until November.” She grins, sighing. “I’m glad for the break, though.”

“And it’s well deserved,” her mother grins. “Now, Meg, I know you dislike him so, but I’ve asked Erik to -”

“Nothing with him, Maman! Please! You know how I loathe that man!” Meg groans, rolling her eyes. “If I am to be without you for a few weeks, at least let me be free from his presence for the same!”

“Now, Meg, have some dignity!” She chastises, and Meg’s hands cross behind her back, her middle finger crossing over her pointer one. “It is only for your protection. And I rather don’t believe you are quite interested in purchasing all of your own food with the small salary you are given?”

“Fine, mother. Only once a day, though. Any more than that and I fear I will vomit from his cruelty,” she sneers, and her mother says nothing, though appears amused at her answer. 

“Then we are in agreement. Now, go pack your bags, little one, and we shall leave for the train in fifteen minute’s time,” she instructs, and Meg hurries off toward the dormitories, her cheeks beat red and exhaling with relief. 

Her fingers search for the letter once more, and her eyes skim over the loopy, romantic cursive, painfed and looped with crimson. 

“My lovely bride,” she reads aloud, a sweet feeling eclipsing her as she holds the words close to her heart. 

“Now, Meg Giry, where is your ring? After all of the trouble I took, fetching it from Rome!” His voice was a sudden interruption to the silence of the room, a loud invasion leaking into her ears. 

She startles for a moment, whipping around, but grins knowingly as she recognizes the sound, though no man materializes about her to claim the voice. 

“I haven’t a clue what you speak of, sir. I don’t know of any ring,” she replies innocently, and with that, the mirror slides open, and his tall figure looms toward her. 

“Funny you should say that, because I seem to remember quite clearly you left it in here,” he replies, eyes sparkling humorously as he reaches into the drawer and pulls the chain from there, a diamond ring dangling. “You must have misplaced it.”

“I must have,” she grins, and he sweeps away hair from her neck and clasps it there, the ring falling to rest just above the upper swell of her breasts. 

“I wish you would wear this more often, but I understand why you can’t,” he murmurs, seriously now, and she wraps her fingers around his, smiling reassuringly. 

“And I wish I could see you more often,” she replies softly. “We’ll be together soon, my love. Just until the Halloween Ball, alright?” 

“I waited so long for you, and I’d wait a million more lifetimes waiting for you,” and the dancer giggles, leaning up to peck him on the cheek. 

“Don’t say things such as that or I fear I will never leave! It’s only a few weeks, my love, and then we will always be together, once mother knows. You shall survive until then. And now, we don’t have to sneak around her.” She gasps as his arms come about her, and the hard edge of his mask digs into her neck as he buries his face there, and she giggles at the feeling, her hands covering his own. 

“Come stay with me,” he whispers against her neck, and she nods, fitting herself against him. “You can use the spare room.” 

“A woman alone with a man? How scandalous!” She giggles, and he presses a kiss to her cheek at the sound. “I’d much rather be with you than in some stuffy apartment.”

“Go, join your mother - I shall pack your bag. Will you come meet me for dinner?” 

“I shall miss you until then, my love,” Meg murmurs, and after a few moments of their sweet embrace, he pulls away, and the girl scurries out of the dormitories, sending one last wistful glance his way as she hurried out.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Are you quite certain you’d like to remain in your mother’s apartment, Meg? Are you comfortable being alone for so long?” Her tone was light and questioning, though the blonde could tell she was suspicious. 

“If I am ever not, Christine, I promise I shall come join you in the De Chagny manor, alright?” She gulps slightly at her knowing gaze, and adjusts the cloak more tightly around her - the one Erik had gifted her a few weeks prior - to hide the ring from view. 

“Now, Meg, if we are best friends, we don’t keep secrets from each other,” Christine says pointedly, and the blonde blushes, turning away. “Who is he?”

“What?” Meg’s eyebrows nearly hitting the top of her forehead, and Christine jumps from her perched position, a jubilant smile gracing her mouth. 

“I knew it! I knew you were courting a man!” She chuckles, and her eyes widen fiercely, the scarlet blush consuming her cheeks and spreading down her neck betraying her. 

“If I tell you, can you promise to keep a secret?” She murmurs, and Christine nods enthusiastically, coming to sit next to her friend. 

“I am engaged,” she whispers, leaning close, and Christine shrieks, smiling widely to the point where Meg was frightened it would split her face in half. Her own mouth reflected a similar grin, and the brunette grappled for the blonde’s hands. 

“I can’t believe it!” She giggles, and Meg leans forward to embrace her dearest friend. Though it had been her idea to keep their relationship a secret, it felt wonderful to finally tell someone. “Oh, Meg, you’re engaged! When is the wedding for?”

“We are to be married in Rome after the Halloween Ball,” Meg explains, and she giggles when Christine’s fingers find the ring dangling on her neck. “Oh, Christine, I am so relieved that you know now! How awful it has been to keep this from you!” 

“Then why have you kept it, Meg? And why is it I, myself, am sworn to secrecy?” She gasps, then, a realization flooding her. “Your mother doesn’t know! Oh, Meg, you rebellious thing! Tell me, is he much older than you? Is he poor? Why keep us in the dark?”

“Oh, Christine, the things I wish I could tell you!” She sighs, and glancing down at the diamonds glinting softly in the candlelight, a small smile crosses her face. “I concede. I will answer all of your questions, as long as you do not ask for his name.”

“Very well. Now tell me, is he tall? Is he handsome? Is he kind to you?” She peppers, and Meg nods, lacing their fingers together. 

“Yes, he’s very tall! Much taller than Raoul, I would say, and much taller than perhaps any man I have ever met. I suppose he is handsome, in a way. His dressing is impeccable, I should comment.” And as Christine glances over at her friend, she sees her eyes glisten with emotion, and a frown overcomes her. “He has made mistakes in the past, but he is very kind, Christine, so kind. The world has not been to him, though.” 

“I am glad he found you, then, Meg. From someone who once lost everything, you were surely the friend who brought me back.” 

A tear rolls down the dancer’s cheek, and she laughs at herself, brushing it away. “Don’t you make me cry, too! Lord knows I’ve cried enough over him. He can barely get two stories out without my becoming emotional. But yes, Christine, he is wonderful. And I am just as lucky to have found him, too.”

“No more tears,” she giggles, handing Meg a handkerchief. “You look exhausted, my dear. Perhaps you should turn in? I can ride with you to the apartment, if you wish.” 

“Oh, no, that should be fine. I have a carriage arriving soon. I shall see you tomorrow, Christine,” she concludes, pulling her friend into a hug. “I shall answer all of your questions then.”

“Are you going to him?” She asks, and Meg blushes, and her jaw drops. “You are!”

“Nothing scandalous, I’m certain! I’m simply staying with him, in an entirely separate room,” she explains, though rolls her eyes. “And I’m swearing you to secrecy.”

“Pinky promise?” The brunette jokes, referencing their preferred method of exchanging sensitive information when they were younger, and the blonde holds her pinky out.

“Pinky promise,” she agrees, and they wrap their pinkies about one another, shaking them and then embracing one another. 

“You shall invite me to your wedding, Meg Giry, whether it is here or Rome. Am I understood?” She mockingly threatens, and the girl very nearly drops her smile. If only she knew who she was marrying, then perhaps she wouldn’t even want their friendship any longer. 

“I promise.” 

After a final hug and goodbye and promise for lunch together the next day, Meg excuses herself to the bathroom, keen on touching up her lips and cheeks with rouge before seeing Erik again. She suspected he was waiting outside in the carriage, and her heart leapt at knowing how close he was. Still, that little shrivel of doubt that he had feelings for Christine remained in the back of his mind. Nonetheless, however, it was easier to bottle up emotions than to face them, so she did exactly that. And besides, she knew it was untrue, and would do no more than inspire guilt in the masked man. Still, the blonde always wondered about the extent of their relationship before Christine had married Raoul. 

There was some sort of creaking in the hallway that tore the dancer away from her rubbing the crimson balm on her lips with her pointer finger. As she circled her cheekbones with the substance, the creaking happened again, and it sounded almost as if someone was right outside the door. 

“Christine? Is that you?” She questions, raising her voice, but there’s no reply. “Raoul?”

Still no reply, but now the dancer could see the shadow looming from beneath the cracks in the door. 

“Oh, I apologize!” She says, quickly stuffing the balms back into her dress pocket. It must be a servant, she realizes, instructed to clean the home before retiring for the evening. “I’ll be out in a moment!” 

Upon opening the door, however she realizes it’s locked, and her heart quickens as fear paces beneath her skin. She tries the knob again but to no avail, and he cries out as the candles dim before completely going dark, the shadow on the other side the last thing illuminated. 

“Please, open the door! I must be leaving,” she states calmly, attempting to keep her voice level. “I must be returning home soon.” 

Still no response, and she shivers as she hears a shifting outside. Why wasn’t anyone replying? Had they locked her in here? Why?

“I don’t . . . I don’t understand what’s going on, but I assure you, I am quite capable of compromise. Please let me out and we can discuss why you feel I’ve offended you. Is that why you’ve locked me in here?” She questions frantically. “Go fetch the Vicomte or the Vicomtesse . . . I’m sure we can work this out.”

Still no answer, and with a gasp, she hears the person walk away, leaving her in the dark. She huddles against the door, beginning to hear tapping in the dark bathroom, sounds echoing about in the pitch black. She clutches her engagement ring tightly in her palm and prays aloud, growing in volume as the tapping becomes grows.

And then, all at once, it stopped. 

“Meg?” His silky baritone questions from the other side of the door, whispering to her as the door swings open. 

“Erik,” she breathes, relief filling her as she is met with the sight of him, standing much taller than her from her seated position on the floor. She quickly stands, backing away from the powder room. 

“Need I ask what you were doing on the floor in a dark bathroom?” He cocks an eyebrow teasingly, and she shakes her head, crossing her arms over her abdomen. His gaze becomes concerned as he notices her fearful state, and looms closer, cupping her shoulders in palms. “Good Lord, what has happened? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” He reaches down to grab her hands, and holds them tightly within his own. “You’re trembling, my dear.”

“I don’t know what happened,” she replies honestly, unable to look up into his eyes. Logic told her she was being irrational, but experience told her otherwise. “I think someone locked me inside.”

“The door was unlocked, Meg,” he murmurs, and her eyes widen, glancing toward the bathroom in terror. “Come, let’s go to the carriage. I snuck in through the window, and I rather think our driver is bored out of his mind.”

“The window? Erik, though he may not like you, Raoul wouldn’t be opposed to you entering through the front door,” she giggles, and he grins at her lighter mood. “Although, you still haven’t explained to me why you believe he hates you so much. And you, my love, have neglected to tell me why you feel the same.”

“Ah, a story for a later date. And besides, we’re still a secret, remember? Now, shall we?” He gestures toward the open window, and she chuckles as he goes through first, expertly swinging his leg over and beginning to descend down. 

“You assume women can perform the same as men in these ridiculously large dresses,” she teases, leaning over the edge and winking down at him. “Perhaps you’ll even see a flash of my ankle.” 

“As if I haven’t seen you in those ballet costumes. Rather risque, if I do say so myself,” he calls up, and she holds a finger to her lips, gesturing toward the bedroom she knew to be Christine’s and Raoul’s. 

“You choose them yourself!” She grins, and he chuckles, smiling up at her as she swings her own leg over. 

“You’re simply irresistible in my costumes, my love.” And she blushes deeply at his words before the color drains from her face. From outside the window, the dark bathroom door was open now, and she heard the creaking and the tapping, but no one was there. She flinches as it begins to squeak on its hinges, and she nearly trips in her descent. 

“Careful, woman, or you’ll break a limb!” He chastises as his hands clutch her waist once her feet hit the ground. 

“Let’s leave,” she states frantically, grabbing his hand, looking up to the floor they had just crawled down from, and shivering as all light suddenly fleed. Somehow, Erik didn’t seem to notice, and he led her to the carriage, the driver giving them a strange look. He, too, seemed unbothered by the lights suddenly ceasing, and more so by their exit from the window.

“The opera house, please,” Meg hurries out, and the driver nods as the masked man offers him a few coins before following the blonde into the carriage. 

“Now, tell me everything,” he states, sitting down across from her and leaning forward so his knees rested against hers through the dress. 

“You’re going to think me quite mad,” she mutters, glancing down at their legs. He chuckles, and she glances up at him as fingers curl beneath her chin. 

“I already think you quite mad as it is, darling. A little ghost story won’t change that,” he teases, and though it was a humorous quip, she saw the honesty reflecting in his gaze. 

“It was all very strange,” she murmurs. “I thought there was a servant outside of the door. I could hear their clothes and their footsteps, and I saw their shadow, but they never replied. And when I tried the door, it was locked,” she explains, and his fingers slip from her chin to rest in his lap.

“And that was when the candles faded?” He questions, and she nods. 

“And after that, there was a . . . sort of tapping from somewhere in the room. Almost like it came from behind the walls. It only stopped when you arrived,” she states, and her breath shutters as they turn away from the manor. She still felt no better, though, even though they were gaining distance. 

“I’m certain it was simply a servant, Meg. Perhaps you should have a word with the Vicomte and request he have a conversation with whoever locked you in. Perhaps they were angry and took their frustration out on you,” he suggests, and she shrugs. It was all very elaborate, but it made sense. 

“Perhaps it is because I am nothing more than a ballet rat, and I dare to step foot in the de Chagny manor,” she says tonelessly, glancing back down at her lap. She hears him sigh, and his finger brushes over where a ring should reside on her hand. 

“That reporter is an idiot, Meg, and I’m rather certain he’s paid the price for his words generously. There will be no more stories of you, and I sincerely hope that a servant didn’t act against you in inspiration from the article. I rather fear I will interfere at that point,” he growls. 

She nods, and squeezes his hands back. “I know I shouldn’t be, but I’m still angry about it. How unfair it is that I should be spotlighted for such cruel stories and lies!” She inhales deeply, attempting to calm herself. “But I still remain positive in the sense of your involvement. I don’t want you doing a thing,” she admits. “I’m more terrified of you being in the center of attention than me.You’ve done nothing wrong, in the entire time I’ve known you. How easy it would be to blame an undocumented, unknown masked man for other’s crimes.” She thought for a moment, and then, “Nothing worthy of the death penalty, I should say.”

“And yet I would thrust myself into any situation for you, darling. I am sorry about the article. I rather fear it’s correct, now that I think of it, that someone acted against you in interest of those horrid lies. But we shall think no more of it! No more talk of darkness, love,” he murmurs, and she grins, though as the sun began to set, she became colder. 

They arrived at the opera house soon after that, and he helped her out of the small carriage, offering his arm to her as they entered through the back, directly into the auditorium. They were quiet, as to not draw attention, as they entered through the walls, winding lower and lower into the Phantom’s catacombs. 

“Have you eaten?” He questions as he removes the cape from her shoulders, draping it over a chair in front of the fire. She shakes her head in response, and he leaves her to enter the kitchen, returning with a steaming cup of tea and slices of assorted breads and meats. 

“Thank you,” she replies, and they both crouch on the floor together, Meg removing the ring from her neck and sliding it onto her finger. They discussed a great multitude of topics, ranging from politics, to literature, to whatever seemed to come to their heads. 

“Though I love talking with you, you look nearly about to drop,” he chuckles, smiling affectionately. “It’s nearly midnight, Meg. Shall I wake you in the morning for breakfast?”

“Not too early,” she grins, leaning forward to kiss his bare cheek. “Do you need help with cleaning -” she begins, reaching up to gently brush her fingers against the mask, but he refuses it. 

“It’s alright, dear. I’m quite adept to that on my own. I shall see you in the morning, Meg.” And with that, he leans forward to kiss her softly on cheek, before she unwinds the wire of his mask away from him and presses her lips to his. The kiss was gentle and sweet, simply bidding each other happy dreams, and the blonde cups both the smooth and ravaged sides of his face. 

“I love you, Erik,” she grins, and he nearly looked as if he were going to cry. No matter how many times she kissed and spoke of her affections, each time always meant the world to him, affecting him deeply.

“I love you, too, my lovely bride,” he replies, curling a strand of hair behind her ear and blinking tears away. “All of your things should be in the spare room.”

“Thank you,” she grins, pressing a kiss to his scarred cheek before standing with him. He bid her goodnight once more, and she retired to her room, though she kept the door open a crack, and kept the candle lit throughout the night. 

Meg Giry didn’t believe in ghosts, but she believed in evil. And whatever she’d felt had been so cold and so bitter, that its imprint of hate never left her, and kept her shivering all night, despite the blankets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WAHOO! and that's chapter one! anyone spooked yet? remind me not to write spooks at midnight lol 
> 
> let me know what you think! love you all <3


	2. chapter two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we have a chapter two! here's day 12 of our merik countdown to halloween! :)
> 
> midnight vibe check: 4/10
> 
> (10 is the scariest, 1 is the least scary)

“Maman!” She woke with a gasp, gathering the blankets up to her chest. The aftermath of her nightmare spiraled through her as she grounded herself, listing things she could see about her in the room. She eventually calmed, though she noted the door had been eased shut, and the candle had been moved from her nightstand to the small table next to the vanity. She rather thought Erik had done all that, however, especially since her clothing from the day before lay neatly folded on the floor. 

She heard the gentle music of an organ being stroked with skilled fingers from beneath the door, and she settled back into the blankets, though pulled them farther up. Her dream was becoming dimmer and dimmer, but she remembered her mother in some sort of trouble, and wasting away in a jail cell. Perhaps it would have been that way, had not she convinced Erik to cease his extortion of money. 

The soft melodies stopped, suddenly, and Meg felt a comforting presence beside her. “Erik,” she murmurs, turning into the hand that rested against her cheek. He didn’t say anything, only brushed a cold thumb against her, and just as she was beginning to drift, he was gone. 

She sits up in the bed, and an unwelcome chill pierces her chest when she sees the masked man through the cracks of the door, fiddling with something in the kitchen. 

“Don’t scream,” a terrible voice whispers in her ear, and she yelps, falling from the bed clumsily in an effort to get away. She lunges toward the door, uncaring of her state of undress, and makes her way toward the tall man, dressed in loose clothing and clad in a silken, navy robe. 

“I think someone’s in my room,” she blurts out, and he startles, nearly dropping the fine china he was holding. He chuckles for a moment, as if at himself, before putting it down and turning to her. 

“You frightened me, darling. How strange that I -“ he stops then, at the look on her face, and an eyebrow arches questioningly. “What did you say?”

“I think there’s someone in my room,” she whispers again, eyes wide, and she grabs the closest thing to her.

“A wooden stick, dear? What are you going to do, beat him to death? With wood?”

“Shut up!” She hisses. “Aren’t you frightened too?”

His grin drops, and he grimaces at the serious look on her face. “Meg, what’s all this about? It’s nearly two in the morning, and you had a fright today.” 

“If someone jumps out and kills me, then, my death lays in your hands!” She huffs, shoving his hands aside and marching back into the bedroom, wooden spoon raised in the air protectively. The moment she enters the room, however, she loses her nerve at the chill that races down her spine and crawls beneath her skin. She felt eyes on her, and the hair on the back of her neck stood upright. 

“Who’s in here?” She questions coldly, mustering up what little courage she found beneath the fear. “Who’s in here!”

But no one answered, and she began to wonder if perhaps she truly was crazy. 

The dancer turns to face her fiancé, and frustration built within her at the pity and concern that filled his gaze, and she considered throwing the spoon at him. 

“You must believe me! I truly did hear a voice, Erik. And something touched my cheek . . . I thought it was you,” she explains, and her fingers clenching around the length of the spoon. “And before you say it: no, it wasn’t a nightmare. It was as real as you and me.”

“I believe you, Meg. I would never doubt you,” he promises, and the blonde relaxes as he steps closer to her, coaxing the wooden utensil from her hands, setting it to the side. “Perhaps it would be best if you did sleep in the apartment . . . I can’t imagine these cellars are kind to your thoughts.”

“I’m fine, Erik!” She argues, but once again, the chill settles over the room, and the dancer shivers, wrapping her arms about herself. He sighs, offering her a hand, which she hesitantly takes, glancing up to analyze whatever emotion was in his eyes. The masked man leads her toward his own bedroom, lighting a candle as she sits on the heavily dressed mattress. 

“I’ll go look through your room, okay? But you must promise me you will try to sleep, though you are frightened. I’ll stay with you for the remainder of the night,” he promises, and the blonde nods, watching as he lights another candle - so she could have light in the room - and stalks into her bedroom, gazing around, ready and alert. However, he comes back soon, having found nothing. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs as he crawls in next to her, leaning his back against the headboard. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you from your work.” Was everything that had happened nothing more than her mind playing tricks on her? 

“It’s alright, Meg. Now try and sleep. I shall protect you from any monsters that haunt you,” he grins as she rolls toward him, burying her head in his lap. Gentle fingers comb through her golden locks with a quiet hum, and after a few minutes, she was lost to the waking world. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

There were no more nightmares, no more voices, no more strange touches for the rest of the night, though she was restless. Erik stayed by her side the entire night, and after she voiced aloud her worries that he wasn’t getting enough rest, he chuckled, low and husky and tired, that he hadn’t been planning on sleeping much anyways, which upset Meg more. 

He was gone when she awoke, and Meg sits up in bed, wondering what time it was. Stalking out of the room, she glances around the lair, and finds it to be empty of anyone except for her. 

“Erik?” She calls out, finding him missing and nowhere to be found. Inhaling deeply, she steels herself before lunging forward and slamming her bedroom door shut. Whether or not there was something in there, it still unnerved to be looking inside of it. 

There was tea in the kettle and freshly cut bread on a small breakfast plate, a small portion of butter beside it. There was an apple and some cheese, and she glanced around once more, looking for any signs of his being there.

“Well, mine now,” she murmurs, setting the food at the head of the table, and pouring a steaming pot of tea. Stirring in honey, she sits finally, and regrettably clears her throat, her voice beginning to ache for some strange reason. In return, she silences herself, spreading the butter on the bread and sipping her tea slowly, relishing the warmth and the bittersweet taste. She only ate a couple of bites, not wanting to consume all of Erik’s meal. 

She placed the rest of it back onto the counter, and began to boil more water in the kettle. She looked around for him once more, and found that his cloak and shoes were missing, but his pocket watch was laying unworn on the reading table. Meg picked it up, fiddling with the object, before she spots a new figure on the book shelf.

“Oh, where did he find this!” She exclaims, her voice soothed from the warm tea and honey. And in her fingers, she cradled her childhood doll, short red strands of yarn trailing from its scalp and a pink, flowing dress covering its form. “I haven’t seen you in many years. I thought you had been lost. Perhaps he stole you away all those years ago,” she grins, placing the doll back on the shelf. 

She turns to trail her fingertips over the rows and rows of books, many of the titles in foreign languages she didn’t understand. Very few were actually in French, but she found the few she had purchased with her small salary, and merged with his own personal library. The doll came back to sit next to his Arabic collection, though as she came to sit in his armchair, there was a flurry out of the corner of her eye. 

“Not you too,” she groans, tucking the Jane Austen novel into her lap, staring straight ahead. The blonde quickly whips her head around, set on catching the doll, but with wide eyes, it simply stops moving. But without a doubt, it was several inches farther to the right, and dismay sunk her heart. 

“Not my doll! You’re supposed to be cute and sweet,” she murmurs, backing away from the little library, and moving back towards Erik’s bedroom, content to hide beneath the blankets until the thing went away. Was she going mad? Though the blonde enjoyed scary stories immensely - especially the ones she’d told the younger girls - she didn’t believe a single ounce of them. The cross in her pocket was as far as her supernatural beliefs went. 

“Little girl,” a voice hisses in her ear, and she lashes out, crying as she flings the novel toward its general direction, content and running back to the kitchen and grabbing the wooden spoon. Without a doubt, it wouldn’t do much good, but what else was she to do? 

“Who are you?” She calls out, heart beating frantically and she cowers into the corner. “What do you want?”

“Little girl,” it hisses again, and she gasps as the hair on the back of her neck is lifted, and she feels cold fingers brush against the top of her spine. 

“Stop it!” She cries out, running toward the other side of the room, wooden spoon held protectively in front of her. “You are not welcome here! I order you to leave!” 

“Little girl, foolish girl,” it repeats, and she launches the spoon at the general direction of the voice before slamming Erik’s door tightly behind her, locking it soundly. 

“Stay back . . . stay back . . . “ she murmurs, and as she backs into the corner, her arms wrapped tightly about her, squeezing her eyes shut. 

That was, until she bumped into a solid figure, and she screamed, falling onto the bed and wrenching her eyes open. Something hard collided with the back of her head, forceful and driven, as if someone had hit her. 

And there, in the corner, stood a tall, menacing shadow, and in its hand, was a wooden spoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the ~ spooks ~ & the F L U F F S
> 
> thank you so much for reading! let me know what you think :). new update for only for you coming soon!


	3. chapter three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> midnight vibe check: 2/10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello my lovely readers! here is day three of merik halloween!

“Meg . . . Meg!” A voice shouts, and her shoulders shake wildly, and she comes to, gasping out and fighting to move away from the arms that held her. “Meg, it’s me! Stop fighting me!’

“Erik?” She murmurs, and her eyes creepy open to see his familiar golden eyes staring back down at her, the expression on his face inscrutable. “Erik, did you see it?”

“See what?” He questions, shaking his head. “Why are all of the books off of the shelves? And the bathtub is overflowing? Did someone come in?”

“It was a shadow, Erik, those shadow people from all of the stories! All of the stories, they’re true! They’re all true!” She cries out, turning toward the corner. “And he was there! He had the wooden spoon!” The girl whips back around and grabs at his hands, holding them tightly. “You must believe me! We can’t stay here!”

“Meg,” he says almost sadly, hands cupping her cheeks. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know!” She gasps, hurrying to stand, but his hands remain touching her, and when she loses her balance, stumbles back toward him. “I don’t know . . . but I’m so frightened . . . “

“Don’t be frightened, darling,” he murmurs, tugging the blonde into his arms and pressing a kiss to the outer shell of her ear. She wanted to shake him, to tell him everything she’d seen, to make him believe, but it was useless, she knew. So instead, she collapses against his chest, hiding there, accepting his embrace. 

“Where did you go?” She whispers, and then feels the hard edge of his mask against her scalp as he bends his neck down. 

“To purchase more loose tea to help you sleep better. Have you ever had these sorts of nightmares before? Perhaps as a child?” He murmurs, pulling away to cup her cheeks once more, and she shakes her head. 

The ballerina felt a twinge in her heart, and almost resented for a moment that he was a man of science. But perhaps the tea would help, and he wouldn’t have to lose sleep to comfort her. Regardless, though, she was grateful for his loyalty, and despite everything, she gave him a small smile. 

“After my grandfather died, I had dreams that he was still here, but they never frightened me,” she explains, leaning against one of his palms. “I don’t know what’s going on.” 

“Perhaps you should go stay with Christine, my love. This place is dark and cold, and has certainly messed with my mind on occasion,” he suggests, and the blonde sighs dejectedly. 

“Maybe you’re right,” she whispers, and her gaze rises to meet his own. “But it’s so hard, sneaking around constantly, and this is the first time where we don’t. Will you come stay, too?” A spark of elation erupts in her chest, and she reaches down to rub her thumb over her engagement ring. “Christine is dying to meet you, Erik. We can keep as much from her as you wish - I only want to spend time with you.” 

He looked as if he were going to agree, to give in, but then his eyes suddenly hardened, and he looked away. “I can’t,” is all he says, and his eyebrows furrowed together in some unknown emotion, and she reaches up to brush away the wrinkle with her thumb. 

“Erik, you still haven’t told me -”

“Meg, please do not ask this. The answer is not a kind one, nor one you would truly want to know,” he says harshly, and her fingers jerk away from him, eyes wide. 

“What do you mean?” She wonders aloud, fingers nervously twisting the ring about her finger as she watches his expression carefully. He often had spouts of anger, and struggled with communicating, but she knew he would never hurt a fly. 

“You would hate me.” It was a blunt statement, his tone harsh and cold and believing. 

Or perhaps that was his secret, she thought. Perhaps he was hiding in his past from her, something so horrific, something so terrible that maybe he thought she’d leave him. 

Though it was a preposterous thought, a little seed of doubt buried itself in her. Despite it, she cups his cheeks, removing the mask, and leaning up so her cheek lay against his ruined one. 

“I could never hate you,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around his neck, leaning against him. His fingers remain on her hips before he eases her upwards, so they are both standing upon their feet. 

Clearing his throat, he runs a hand through his raven curls before turning, and the blonde follows him out the door, to reveal a messy parlor. As he had said, books were scattered about, and she heard the rush of water trickling from its spout and splash over the edges. 

“Perhaps we should allow this to remain a mystery,” he decides, and she shrugs, simply wanting to forget the entire event. He still seemed on edge from her questions and the state he had found her in, but nevertheless, he had missed her, and was simply glad to be in her company once more. 

As Meg bent on the ground to stack the books to return to their home, he came behind her, wrapping his arms about her waist and he rolled them to the ground, the dancer giggling. 

“You’re soaked, Erik!” She laughs, his sleeves rolled above his forearms and clothes positively a disaster from handling the overflowing bath. He chuckles, pressing atop her, his hand acting as a barrier between her scalp and the group as he kisses her soundly. She grins, her arms coming around him, leg winding around his calf to pin him there. 

And though glee filled her, and she opened her eyes to smile at him as he pulled away, lips swollen, to press kisses to her cheeks, she spotted the doll, looming above them, sitting atop ‘Dracula’, which was an entire shelf below where it was before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this doll is giving me bad vibes anyone else
> 
> i hope you enjoyed! please let me know what you thought :). see you tomorrow!


	4. chapter four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> midnight vibe check: 1/10. nothin scary here 
> 
> fluff check: LITERALLY THIS CHAPTER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello my lovely readers! i'm a little behind on updates, so i apologize! i had to cover few classes at my studio, and yesterday i was exhausted after an exam, so i'll be uploading the other two chapters throughout the day!

“Erik, I’ll just be out for a few moments to check in my mother’s flat! I’ll be back soon. Don’t eat all of the chocolate!” She calls to him, sliding her coat on and lacing her boots. 

“Do you have any idea what time of night it is?” He questions, glancing down at his watch. 

“Nope! But I probably should, tonight and tomorrow morning before leaving for Christine’s.” She then holds a finger up, eyebrow arching in warning. “You weren’t thinking about telling me not to go, were you?”

“Of course not, darling,” he chuckles, throwing his coat on over his shoulders. “I’ll simply go with you.”

“Good answer,” she grins, and he holds his arm out for her, and the blonde winds her own around the limb, closing the distance between them. She was glad for his presence, resenting when they had to part, but he had promised to visit often, though she suspected it would be through the means of climbing through the guest room window. 

“Do you believe in ghosts, Erik?” She questions, and he seems to stiffen under her grip before relaxing, almost shocked by the question. 

“Why do you ask? Is this in relation to what’s going on currently?” He asks, and she shrugs, leaning her head against his arm, though she barely even reached his shoulder as it was. 

“Just curious,” she replies quietly, and he nudges his hip with hers, though it was more so against her ribs, and she grins. 

“Of course not. If I can’t see it, then it’s not there,” he explains, and she shivers as a gust of wind sweeps beneath her cape, carrying whispers of death and promises of doom beneath its breath. The blonde burrows herself into his side, and he chuckles, assuming she was merely cold and leans down to press a kiss to her temple. Almost immediately, giddiness replaces fear and she giggles, her fingers grasping his coat through her gloves. 

“But what about faith?” She questions, and the cross necklace burns against the skin of her collarbone. “What of that?” 

“Well,” he begins, coming to a stop before the apartment building, which was behind the grand place. “I have faith in my science, as do you in your own beliefs.” 

“That makes sense,” she agrees, and digs through her pocket to find the buried key. “We should go inside. It’s freezing!” 

“How very curious, how cold it is this October,” he comments, standing behind the blonde as she quickly and clumsily opens the door, ascending up to the third floor to the apartment. The dancer purposely avoids the shadows, and was glad to have her masked fiancé by her side. 

As they entered the room, Erik closed and locked the door behind them, and slid his coat off of his shoulders and placed it on the rack. He did the same with Meg’s crimson cloak, a gift Raoul had given her a few months back, and placed it atop his. The blonde toed off her shoes quickly, tossing her scarf, gloves and hat onto the cushion of a chair. 

“I remember Maman mentioning something about food in here, quite possibly,” she comments, opening the cabinets above the stove. “I believe she said something about you bringing the groceries over, but I wanted to be sure so nothing spoils.”

“Ah,” he chuckles, as she brings a loaf of bread to the table. “And did you tell her how you hate me?” 

“And how your mere presence sickens me immensely,” she grins as he comes behind her. 

It was dark in the apartment, but the window allowed an immense amount of moonlight to bounce across the dining table, so they decided to save their candles for Erik’s dark grotto. 

“You’ve never told me about your rings,” she begins, sitting beside him at the table. “What do they all mean?” 

“Some of them are rather silly. You must promise not to judge me too harshly,” he warns, and she takes his too-large hand in her smaller ones, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. 

“Why would I judge you for being sentimental?” She questions, looking closer, and he spreads his knees so she may lay against his chest, back pressed against him. “I rather am, too. I’ve kept every letter you’ve written to me, Erik. In fact, I rather struggle purging myself of letters from my dearest friends.” 

“I suppose we make quite the pair then,” he murmurs, burying the bare side of his face into her neck, and she hums, palms cupping the outside of his thighs as he does so. 

“A lovely one, at that,” Meg agrees, lifting his right hand. “I know the onyx one is from Persia, but what of this one?” Her fingers touch the gold-encrusted ring, circling his middle, longest finger. 

“My father’s,” he replies, watching as she explores the texture of the jewelry piece. “I found it when I . . . when I went back, after all those years, to confront my mother. I didn’t tell you, but I found a box of father’s belongings that had been untouched.” 

“It’s beautiful,” she comments, brushing her thumb over the face of it. She desperately wanted to look back at him, wanted to see if he was alright, but he continued on, and she ignored the hitch in his breath when he spoke. 

“This one, a friend gave to me long ago, when we traveled to America. Do you remember the Daroga?” 

“Nadir?” She questions, and he nods, his nose nudging the crown of her scalp. 

“He bought me this ring from a witch in New Orleans. I don’t believe in an ounce of what she spoke of, but supposedly, it is to protect me against evil spirits. But I can quite promise, my dear, the only thing it does is rust,” he tells her, pulling the ring off to reveal a blueish-green tint on his bronzed skin. 

“And I believe you recognize this one.” Meg could hear him smiling as he wiggles his wedding finger on his left hand. “This, I believe, is my favorite so far.” 

“Mine, too,” she giggles as he flips his hand over, and she laces their fingers together, palms pressing against one another. “I love learning more of your past, Erik. And I’m proud of you for sharing whatever you are comfortable with. I know some of the memories are difficult to experience over and over again in your thoughts, but I appreciate you telling me them.” She brings their hands up and kisses the inside of his wrist, rugged and dulled scars beneath her lips. 

Erik’s free hand twines into her blonde strands, gently trapping it away from her face, and nuzzling his nose against her cheek as she arches up. “It’s in moments like these in which I can’t believe I found you.” 

“I’m thankful every day I found you too, my love,” she murmurs, grinning as he presses a kiss to the outer-shell of her ear. 

He spins her around, pressing his mouth gently against hers, and Meg rises to her knees, only looming a few inches above him now. His arms encircle her waist and pull her closer, kneecaps pressing against his inner thighs, and the blonde’s arms wind around his neck. 

It was only a soft kiss, the slow pulling of lips against one another. His lips were chapped from dehydration and the cold, though Meg found she didn’t mind, and pulled away, licking her now-dry lips after. 

“I can’t wait to marry you,” he whispers, sudden emotion in his voice, and she cups his cheeks, touching his forehead with her own, the edge of his mask deliciously scraping against her skin. 

“Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sis I CANT WAIT FOR YOU BOTH TO GET MARRIED EITHER 
> 
> i hope you all enjoyed! let me know your thoughts :)
> 
> also y'all we had AWFUL thunderstorms & hail on wednesday, it SNOWED on thursday and friday, and now it's literally sunny and beautiful outside but its 28 degrees XD


	5. chapter five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> midnight vibe check: 5/10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello my lovely readers! here's a bit of a spookier chapter than the one from this morning. i hope you enjoy!

She wakes in his arms a few hours later, tucked up against him in the large, cushiony chair, where her mother had held her many times while growing. 

A large yawn escaped her mouth, and her throat felt dry and something awful. 

They each had eaten a few slices of bread and split an apple before Meg perched herself on his lap in the large chair, and after his arms had come about her, she had quickly fallen asleep, exhausted from her minimal amount the night before. 

It seemed as Erik was too, and she gently removed his mask, and winced at the harsh lines that now crossed his deformity. The dancer had chastised him many times before, to remove his mask before sleeping, but the stubborn man was used to wearing it constantly that it often slipped his mind. 

“Go back to sleep,” he whispers, voice husky from sleep, and she grins, cupping his deformity. He leans into her touch, though his eyes remain closed. 

“I’ll just get a cup of water, and then I’ll be back,” she promises, and his arms loosen and withdraw, and she slowly removes herself from his lap and scurries to the kitchen, pouring the pitcher of water into a glass and gulping it quickly down. 

However, when she turned back around to return to her fiancé, he was gone. 

And in his place, was the doll. 

“I don’t understand what’s happening!” She cries out, backing away from her childhood toy and against the countertop, digging into her hips and she braces her hands against the side of it. 

“Little girl,” that dark, terrible voice whispers in her ear again. “Foolish girl.”

“Please!” She begs, darting toward the doll and lifting it, sending it out through the window. “Whatever is here, leave!”

Shadows dances around her as the blonde curled into herself, clutching the cross at her neck tightly. She wished she could have slammed her eyes shut, but they remained wide open, taking in every small movement. 

“What do you want?” She cries out, dodging away from prying fingers as they pull at the edge of her nightgown, and she shakes, wishing for guidance. What did she know about fighting unseen forces? The last unseen force she’d encountered was the man she was looking for, and he was nothing but a ghost story, in terms of the supernatural. 

“The boy with the dreams.” This voice was light, perhaps feminine this time, but sounded broken and twisted all the same. “The girl with the poems.”

“The boy with the . . .” And then, the realization hit her wickedly. “Give him back! What did you do with him? Let him go!” She yells, anger giving her courage. It was one thing to torment her, but it was an entirely separate thing to target Erik. 

“Give me your poems . . . “ it hisses, and she clenched her fists. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” She gasps, whirling around the room. She cried out when all warmth suddenly left the room, and goosebumps rose on her flesh. 

A solemn gloom fell over the apartment as she searched for the masked man, but to no avail. How terrifying it was to be haunted by a thing she didn’t believe in until a few days ago, but how agonizing it was to now have lost her fiancé. 

“Please don’t hurt him!” She sobs, and the bedroom door swings open and closed, moving in a slow, steady pace, before entirely rotating, revealing a half-naked Erik. 

He only adorned loose sleeping pants, which lay low on his hips, and the sight startled her. She’d never seen this much of his body. It was a small thought, in the back of her mind, that Erik was terribly insecure about his image, but it was overwhelmed with the sight of newly bare skin. 

He came forward, boldness in his gaze, and her breath hitched as he cradled her palms, resting them on his lower stomach before slowly sliding up his abdomen. There was muscle beneath the blonde’s hands, and the barest dusting of hair. And when she reached his chest, her nervous gaze met his own, and he smirked. 

“Erik . . .” She questions, searching his eyes for any sign of the shy man he became when they touched, but found none. Almost as if that shy man simply ceased to exist. 

“Erik, Erik wait -“ she gasps out as he backs her against the wall, and her chin connects with his chest from the force of it, a large, thin hand cradling her scalp. In the next moment, he was looming over her, and then with a breath, kissed her roughly. 

It was intense and passionate, and Meg had the inkling that something was off, but was entirely distracted by the pulling of his lips and the invasion of him inside her mouth. She moaned as he bit down on her upper lip, and her fingers curled around his shoulders to bring him closer. 

It was when he pulled away to kiss down her neck and bit down, hard, that she pushed him away, eyes wide with confusion, and something as hungry as his own glimmered in her chest. 

He came forward again, but she fled from the wall, and stalked toward the front door, frightened by the way his eyes glowed a dim, ghostly red. 

This wasn’t Erik. 

And then whatever was inside of Erik released him, shrugging its shadowy figure from his body. The blonde dashed forward, attempting to catch the masked man as they both crumpled to the floor, her body breaking his fall. 

“Erik,” she cries out, hugging him to her after recognizing him as unconscious, pressing his face against her chest. The shadow figure loomed towards them, and Meg grasped Erik’s shirt, as if her arm could act as a barrier. 

“I told you! Don’t touch him!” She growls, and shivers when strands of hair are lifted from the back of her neck, almost as if someone were curling the gold threads around their fingers. Just as Erik tended to do when he was comforting her. 

“Stop this!” She screams as fingers dig into her scalp now, painfully and rough. “You aren’t welcome here!”

“Give me your poems, give me your dreams,” the voice growls lowly behind her, and she clings to Erik, and wishes he would wake. And for a second, for one, terrifying second, she wondered if he was dead. 

But he was not. And as he began to wake, the shadow figure dimmed, and then completely disappeared as the Phantom groaned, eyes fluttering open. 

“I suppose you wouldn’t mind telling me why we’re on the floor?” He questions lowly, voice husky and dry, and he stops, lifting fingers to his throat. “My voice is outrageously sore. Did I . . .” 

“You didn’t have a nightmare, Erik. Everything’s okay,” she murmurs, and she cradles him once again in her arms, still shaking. 

“Darling, you’re trembling,” he observes, worried, and pulls away from her, cupping her cheeks. “You’re warm, too. Are you running a fever?” He lays the back of his palm against her forehead, and he sniffs roughly. “You’re burning up.”

“I’m just tired,” she promises, and in all truth, she was. She couldn’t seem to catch more than a few hours of sleep. Not since all of this started. 

“Go lay in bed, my dear. I’ll come bring a salve and a glass of water,” he instructs, and she nods, though she can see the confusion in his eyes at the unsteady strain in his voice. 

She does so, though she leaves the door open, and watches his figure from the kitchen, both comforted by his visual presence, but also frightened at how similar his shape was to the shadow’s. 

Cool hands rub a warm slave over her forehead and chest, and she takes a few sips of water until she is lulled to sleep by his gentle humming, yet she forces herself to open her eyes, at least just once, to make sure it was still him. 

“Go to bed, Meg Giry. I’ll chase away all of your nightmares.” 

It was quieter, with him around, but the girl swore she could still hear a deep voice grumbling of poems and dreams all the while as she fell into a restless sleep, soothed by his fingers gently stroking the new mark on her neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoever this ghost guy is gives me bad vibes idk wbu
> 
> i hope you all enjoyed! let me know your thoughts :)


	6. chapter six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> midnight vibe check: 7/10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello my lovely readers! i'm a little behind, as i have an upcoming exam on thursday and have been spending much of my time on studying for that. i will do my absolute best to upload everything by halloween. however, with all that being said, here's chapter six!

She awoke sometime in the early morning, and blessedly, though she could only gain a few hours of sleep, it wasn’t due to some unseen, lurking horror. She felt a weight on her hip, and glanced down, only to find Erik’s head resting there, an arm thrown over her thigh and the other resting against her abdomen, hand flat against her back. 

Meg could feel that his mask was gone, despite him being turned away from her. She slowly extends her hand out, combing through his wild mop of hair that never seemed to stay in place. The curls danced along the bottom of his neck. 

She gently stretched, as to not arise the man sleeping on her, but as she extended her hand into the air, opening her palms, she noticed strange marks on her hand. It was still too dark to read whatever was written, but as she ran a finger over it, she gasped, grimacing as pain laced through the limb. 

It was three long scratches. There were small crescents littered beneath them, but she recognized those as her own fingernails breaking the skin there, most likely from fright. Her neck felt sore, but she suspected it was from when Erik - or whatever had overcome Erik - had bitten her. 

She leans forward, and grabs one of Erik’s hands, flipping them over to see if there were any marks. And sure enough, three lines were scratched across his palm, and the other was bare. 

Still deep asleep, she felt him nuzzle her hip, warm against the barrier of her nightgown, and pull her closer, a hand now wrapping around her calf. The cold, cutting exterior of his rings pressed against her bare skin, and she shivered, curling her toes. 

“You could have crawled onto the bed, my love,” she murmurs to him, voice shaking, and she hears the low buzzing of his voice vibrate against her. 

“Go back to bed,” he murmurs. “You’re really warm.” 

“Will you come up here? I’m freezing,” she complains, and he chuckles, lifting his head and turns it toward her, the normal side of his face now pressed against her hip. 

“There’s not enough room on the bed for us, darling.” His fingers creep forward to trace her cheek, and Meg grins, leaning into his touch. “But I do have an idea.”

“Mmm. I’m all ears,” The blonde chuckles, and she squeals as he suddenly stands, and lifts her into a bridal carry. 

“What are you doing?” She giggles as he plops into his back, and pulls the girl against him, and she flattens against his abdomen. Her knees cradled his waist, and her face tucked against his neck, and warm arms came to wrap around her, fingers burying themselves into her golden scalp. 

“Holding you,” he says, and she smiles, lifting herself into her elbows on top of his chest. 

“Then don’t let me go.” She presses a kiss to the sharp line of his jaw, and a feeling of elation fills her when she feels the corners of his mouth arch up. 

“Now off to sleep with you. You’ve barely gotten any sleep in the past few days,” he whispers, and she leans back against him, and his free thumb rubs tight circles against the middle of her back. 

“Shhhh . . .” She murmurs. “Can’t sleep.” 

He chuckles, his body shaking beneath her, and she nuzzles into his neck, hands pressing against the sides of his shoulders. 

She fell asleep, cradled against him, but awoke nearly an hour later as the sun began to rise. 

It was rare that Meg would rise early, usually sleeping as long as she could, but the longer they stayed in that room, the more that dread filled her. 

But all the while, she did rather enjoy his arms around her. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“When did you fall in love with me?” She asks, sitting beside him at the table, desperately keeping her eyes away from the dark corner behind him. 

“I think it was the very first time I saw you dance,” he murmurs, and she glances up, and affection sparkles in his eyes. “You have an aura around you, Meg Giry, and it simply glows when you perform.”

She gives him a dazzling grin, and she reaches across the table to grab ahold of his hand. He flips his palm so it pressed against hers, and Erik’s thumb skimmed the arch between her pointer finger and thumb. 

“Just so the record is cleared, I never hated you, my dear. I think . . . I was simply afraid that a feisty ballerina had caught my eye, and I simply didn’t believe I was worthy of her.” 

“Well, you are,” she corrects, and his cheeks redden - even beneath the half-mask - and quickly takes a sip of his tea. The blonde giggles, and cradles his large hand in both of hers. “I don’t think I hated you, either. I was, however, frightened by how imposing and intimidating you were. You were a ghost story, and then you were flesh and blood.”

“And then one Halloween, a brave ballerina, though she was shaking, led the way down the hall of the underground stairwell, leading to the Phantom’s lair, wanting to know if her kitten had ran away, deep below in the cellars,” he reminisces. “Oh, Meg, you were so beautiful that day.”

“And there I found you, asleep and wet and utterly, utterly human,” she finishes. “And little Lucy, curled up on your back. I thought you were some sort of vampire!”

“Perhaps I am,” he smirks, and he stands quickly, and in a flash, is behind her, arms coming about the blonde as she squeals aloud. 

“Erik!” She squeaks as his lips press behind her ear, before kissing down her neck. She giggled as he pressed his mouth more firmly against the juncture of her shoulder, though Meg winces as his teeth gently scrape against the previous bruise. 

“Are you okay?” He asks suddenly, standing now and brushing the sunshine locks across her other shoulder. His eyes widen at the mouth-shaped bruise there, and Meg gulps as his finger traces the mark. She wished desperately that she could see his face. “Did I do this?” 

“Erik, it’s alright, you weren’t in your right mind -”

“I had a horrible dream last night, that someone was inside of me, and wanted you. They wanted you so badly, and I tried so hard to fight them off . . . And then I was myself again, but another man was kissing you. I was jealous and angry, but when I fought the man off of you . . . it was myself.” She could feel his unsteady breaths against the crown of her head, and she desperately wanted to hear his thoughts. “Did I do this? Last night?”

“Erik, please, it’s okay -”

“And something I remember, quite clearly, was you running away from me, and I grabbed here,” Erik remembers, and Meg’s heart dropped at the twisted, pained expression on his face as he saw the hand-shaped prints on her upper arms, now turning a sickly purple. 

“Erik, it wasn’t you! There’s something strange going on, and I really do think someone - or something - was here, last night -”

“Oh, enough with the ghosts, Meg! There’s no such thing! D-don’t make any more excuses for me!” He yells, and at first, she’s shocked - he’d never raised his voice at her, never since she’d nearly fallen off the roof all those months ago - and then she’s frustrated. 

“Erik, can’t you see! There’s more to this world, more to you and me, then what is in your precious books! Look, look at your hand! The one you’ve had in your pocket all morning!” She pries his fisted hand out of his pocket, and forces his fingers to open and lengthen. “You have three scratches on your palm. And look! I have the same.” She opens her own hand, and he gazes curiously down at it. Though he had yelled at her, she kept her voice lowered, knowing he didn’t respond well to the same. 

“I can’t believe I hurt you,” he murmurs, eyes flicking back up to the bruises on her neck and arms. “I am so, so sorry.”

“Erik, it’s okay, we can figure this out! You didn’t mean it, it wasn’t you-”

“I think it’s best if you stay the next few days at Christine’s, Meg,” he murmurs, fingers tracing his own scratched palm. “You’ll be safe there.”

Her heart plummeted. “From who?”

“From me.”

And then his eyes were glowing and red, and a sinister grin broke across his mouth as the sunlight flickered outside before completely vanishing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BA BA BUUUUUUUHM
> 
> thank you so much for reading! let me know your thoughts! :)


	7. chapter seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> midnight vibe check: 4/10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello my lovely readers! here is day seven. i hope you enjoy!!

She’d never run so fast in her life. 

Tears streamed down her face as she sprinted from the apartment, freezing in the coldness as the sun was peeled from the earth. She didn’t even know if what she was experiencing was real - all she knew was she had to get away, even though her heart was several paces back, with the man with the broken face. 

Meg didn’t know how far she was running - or, really, where she was going - but after sprinting through the streets of Paris, she came across the third arrondissement, and saw a bridge that connected to a country road that she knew well. 

The blonde could barely feel her fingers as she ran down it, tripping over her pale, champagne skirts, regretting wearing any sort of nightgown. The dancer feared that Erik was close behind her, and was too frightened to glance over her shoulder. 

“Christine,” she sobbed, voice hoarse and quiet, and when she tried to yell her friend’s name again, it came out soft and swallowed, and her voice strained something terrible. 

The manor was large and daunting, just as it was before when she had visited a few days before, and she shivered as she sunk onto the stairs, before the large crimson door. Darkness began to swirl around in her vision as she knelt on the ground, before completely losing consciousness and collapsing against it. In her chilled rest, she curled around herself, wedding ring pressed against her lips. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

She barely awoke to a screech much, much later, and then hands were attempting to pull her up, and she recognized the fruit scent of Christine’s perfume. And then much larger hands wrapped around her, and oh, he almost smelled like - 

“Erik?” Meg murmurs, frozen fingers barely able to move as she attempted to roll closer toward him, but his voice was higher, and he felt thinner. 

“Who’s Erik?” The brunette asks, and she feels Raoul freeze beneath her, but all too soon, she was unconscious once more. But she was laid carefully upon the bed, and she could have sworn she felt fingers grazing the diamond on her ring. 

“Meg, you must wake! Raoul is fetching the maid for a warm bath. Oh, my dear friend, please wake!” She exclaims, climbing in beside the blonde and wrapping her arms tightly around her, as if sharing body heat. It worked for a moment, and Meg crumpled against her, but her skin was freezing against Christine’s, and soon even the brunette felt chills wrack her body. 

“Why was she outside?” She hears Raoul’s gruff voice question, and there was no answer from Christine. 

It was then that Meg began to stir, blinking through frozen eyelashes, hair stained with ice. 

“Oh, Meg!” Her friend screeched, hugging the blonde tightly to her as the girl shivered violently, barely able to speak. “What did you do? Why are you here? Why aren’t you with your fiancé?”

“Fiance? She has a fiancé? Why is she staying with him? Who is he?” Raoul questions, and Christine smacks him on the shoulder from her laying position. 

“Shush, Raoul!” 

“Sorry!”

“Hmm . . . Chris . . . .” She mumbles, groaning through the searing hot pains as she tried to move her limbs. 

“Yes, Meg?” She questions, moving her hair to the side and laying the back of her hand against Meg’s forehead. 

Before she could say much else, Meg began to cry, and turned against the pillow, much to the couple’s horror. Christine quickly wrapped her arms around the girl, and Raoul ushered the maid out, giving orders to start a warm bath. 

“Raoul, don’t you have some of your sister’s chamomile in the cupboard for when I was sick a few weeks ago? Can you warm some?” Christine asks, and he quickly set out to work. 

“Oh, sweet, what happened?” The brunette questioned the ballerina, and she shakes her head, her huffing sobs warming her voice. 

“It’s him . . . “

“Oh, has that man done something to you!” She angrily exclaims, and Meg feels heated puffs of breath on her neck. “Oh, I’ll give him something to be sorry about!”

“Did someone hurt you? The man you’re with?” Raoul jumps in, pouring a steaming pot of tea into fine pink china. “Just say the word, Meg, and I’ll-”

“He didn’t do anything, that’s the problem! He’s hurt, someone is hurting him . . .” she sobs, and they both cock an eyebrow at each other, sharing a strange look before turning back to the shivering dancer. 

“If you tell me where he lives or where he is, I can send someone there to, Meg,” Raoul gently says, placing the tea cup next to her. 

“I’m so tired . . . “ Meg cries, and Christine shushes her, brushing calming fingers through her hair. 

“It’s alright. We’ll stop peppering you with questions,” Christine promises, and Meg nods, settling against the pillows, still hiccuping on her sadness. 

“If you’re ready, Meg, a bath is prepared for you,” Raoul states, the maid knocking politely and softly on the door, alerting them of the finished task. 

“I’ll go in there now,” she says, wiping her eyes and breaking away from Christine to stand on shaky legs. With pain ripping her heart to shreds, she cradles her wedding band close to her, desperately wishing there was something she could do. 

“Oh, Erik, I know we said we’d wait to tell Maman, but I would do anything to keep you safe,” she murmurs, looting around the room for a parchment and fountain pen, smiling fondly at the thought of Erik stubbornly refusing to use any sort of writing utensil other than a feather quill. But for the life of her, she found his aesthetic very much appealing. 

The blonde desperately wanted a bath, but found the idea of being anywhere near any of the servants disturbing, still worrying whether what had happened before was due to one of the maids. Instead, she wrapped herself tightly in blankets, and found warmth was slowly returning to her. 

It was with great horror that the fountain pen was knocked out of her hand by an unseen force, sending it tumbling against the wall and breaking. 

“You took the man I love! What more do you want?” She sobs, hands fisting by her sides. “I don’t care if you’re dead - I’ll kill you again if I must! I haven’t the patience for the likes of you, nor the time! I won’t be postponing my wedding because some supernatural freak decided to play dollhouse!” 

She then felt something nudge against her foot, and upon looking down, she saw a ring. Upon closer inspection, she found it looked just like the one Erik had shown her, and in fact looked like the same design. However, when she turned to look at the inside of the room, her eyes widened when she saw indents.

It was Erik’s ring. 

A wad of parchment was thrown at her hip, and she stifles a gasp, moving away into the corner, and slowly uncrumpled it with shaking hands. 

“Who are you!” She cries out, and with a sob, she reads the words on the paper, three long, red slashes drawn across it, layering over a word. ‘Lui’ was written. 

“Him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> girl i’d lose it on a ghost too id be mad af
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!!! let me know your thoughts :). see you in the next chapter!


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